


Loyalty Costs and Arm and a Leg

by bossyluigi



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/bossyluigi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took years of watching his still figure move only the slightest with each breath to realize just how much he was going to miss it the moment things went black. Of course, it wasn’t his fault. It never was. Blaming himself for the things that had happened to was the worst of it all. Being in isolation didn’t help much either. It gave him too much time to think. Dwelling on the worst of his thoughts ended up breaking down the poor man’s sanity.</p>
<p>And just when he was about to break— they made things worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The story of Kaz's kidnapping and how he fought to stay alive for Big Boss's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty Costs and Arm and a Leg

He felt  **D E A D**

One moment, he’s breathing in the musky air that works to suppress all ability to actually get a decent lungful and the next he’s fighting to keep it once he has it. Why couldn’t he have stayed put? He had a watchful eye on him but it was too good to be true. If he couldn’t sit tight and protect him then what good was he? What comrade was he to watch his leader lie there, _helpless_ , for nine years. 

It took years of watching his still figure move only the slightest with each breath to realize just how much he was going to miss it the moment things went black. Of course, it wasn’t his fault. It never was. Blaming himself for the things that had happened to was the worst of it all. Being in isolation didn’t help much either. It gave him too much time to think. Dwelling on the worst of his thoughts ended up breaking down the poor man’s sanity.

And just when he was about to break— _they_ made things worse. 

‘ _What are you here for? Who are you working for? What can you tell us about the Diamond Dogs?_ ’ all questions that can lead back to one person, one moment, one mistake. He couldn’t let them know. For Big Boss, he’d remain silent.   


The first of many blows met his stomach, drawing a quick inhale and sudden lack of air. The shock brought his mouth agape. Another attempt to steal a breath proved fruitless. It was the thought of death that kept him fighting to stay alive. The voices of war urged him to give in and accept defeat. It would’ve been a death worthy of praise, but he held on. 

A mouthful of saliva met the face of his assailant and another punch met with his shoulder. He hissed. Keeping it together, saving face, holding one’s tongue— that’s how it was on the battlefield. 

“My lips— are **sealed**.”  


Thick fingers, calloused hands, all moving in an instant, restrained the soldier, drawing him back against his chair. An unforeseen hand dug into his hair, pulling his head back and even ripping a few strands from his scalp. The first blood had been drawn. 

“What did you say?” The man’s accent was heavy. Of course, that was to be expected when English wasn’t native to these parts. These must’ve been translators of some sort. “You will answer my questions dammit!” A wave of his hand and the unseen man holding onto Kaz’s hair brought the edge of a blade to his neck. It was a tedious circumstance, but he continued to refuse even after the first physical threat. 

“And if I don’t? _You’ll slit my throat_? Won’t be much good to you if I can’t talk— or… _live_ for that matter.” The edges of his lips curled into a smirk. That’s what he was best at. His tongue in cheek attitude always went over well with people, and by well, I mean he managed to rile them all up. For better or for worse didn’t always matter. His goal now was to keep the topic away from the information they wanted and would do anything to retrieve. 

Instead of the pain of a blade against his throat, the bruising of knuckles against his cheekbone drew more blood. Kaz could do nothing else but laugh. It was the only way to keep the tears from slipping free to wash the blood away. Blood was a medal he wore proudly. “Keep at it fellas! I’ve got the rest of my life to sit here and take your _shit_.” A second, third, fourth— his body ached but there was no stopping. He head would drop and would immediately meet the same fist as before that yanked it back to keep his eyes focused on the single light in the center of the room. 

Was it really the light of the room or was it that ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ bullshit he kept hearing. Was he that close to death already or was it just the blood loss sending his mind through loops? Either or, each blow numbed the pain of the next until there was nothing to feel. Being jostled around seemed more like a game than a form of punishment. What more could they do to him? He was a marred man at the end of his wits. A few bruises, scars, and bloodied shirts wouldn’t do much to his ego. It would boost it, and if he ever got back to Big Boss, he’d stand tall to admit that he didn’t break.   


“ _I’m…. time….. go back….. take….. tomorrow…._ ” Words made no sense anymore as the throbbing in his ears mixed with the constant ringing of bells drowned everything out. He could probably guess what was being explained. They knew they weren’t going to get anything out of him at the moment. He’d sit alone until he was ready to go at it again. Hah— _funny_. They still thought they could get information from him. 

It wasn’t until he was pulled to his feet that he realized just how long he’d be sitting there as this guy’s punching bag. His legs nearly collapsed the moment he rose. His lungs felt heavy in his chest but not as heavy as his head. It lulled around a moment then dropped against his chest. The soldier’s entire body fell to the floor before the sickening feeling of vertigo upset his stomach. 

The smell of blood, vomit, and sweat was a disturbing mixture that every so often forced him to gag. A hot shower would’ve been preferable. The feeling of water against his skin, warm, clean— ah the dream of it was too good to be true. Even a few rain drops on the other side of the window would’ve been good to have, but alas, this was a desert. He’d be lucky if there was a cloud in the sky of something other than sand. Those were the worst.   


Sandstorms at night were the stuff of nightmares. As if sitting in his own decrepit body was bad, having the gaping wounds sting from the rush of sand as it tore through holes in walls, open windows, and cracks in doors was gave him a bit of a challenge. Perhaps that’s why they put him in the back room, handcuffed to one of the hot water pipes. If he wasn’t careful, the burn on the backside of his hand would worsen. He had made the mistake of getting close enough to actually touch the burning metal and regretted it ever since. Was it terrible to wish for the coming morning? 

* * *

 

Weeks passed. The worst of the nights were over, however, his silence wasn’t getting him anywhere. Questions seemed to repeat and snarky replies failed him after so long. At this point, he was hungry and fighting to get a bite to eat and something to drink. Big Boss was still at the forefront of his thoughts, but the constant desire for necessities seemed to rank up there as well. On many occasions he would be able to snatch something from a passing guard or drink enough saliva to please his aching stomach for a little while longer. 

This would be the time that Kaz wished to die more than anything. After getting a hit in during one of his sessions with the translator, a second faceless figure took hold of his arms, keeping him back against his chair. He could barely move his head and now he was forced in placed. The gruff yet familiar voice of the translator cut through the blood he continually spat the louder he yelled. “You piece of American garbage! If you’re going to be this feisty, then I’ll do something about it!”

Hands dug about in the bag strapped to his back before he managed to pull a hacksaw from its contents. Was he going to put it to his throat again? They had tried that time and time again but not once did they ever break the skin. 

“I’m not… I’m Japanese…. I’ve got Japanese blood…” It wasn’t enough to keep the man from advancing, setting the teeth of the saw against his upper arm and giving it a good yank. The screams that echoed throughout the room could’ve been heard for miles. Each and every drag tore at the soldier’s arm until he could barely keep himself awake. Blood poured from the now exposed bone and muscle mass that hadn’t been gnarled in the blades teeth. It took little to no time before he was passing out only to be woken soon after by a second overwhelming fire in his leg. 

The blade had moved, this time digging into his shin. With what little strength he had, Kaz tried to shimmy his way out of the chair. Both the hands on his arms and the one in his hair made sure none of that would come to pass. Their rewards came in tears and screams. There was no escape. If Big Boss had found him now, what would he think? What would he say? Would he off him without so much as a second thought? If they had switched shoes, it would be a mercy killing. Is that what they’ve become? Pitiful cases? 

Each of the disassembled body parts were discarded almost instantly. Keeping them would’ve just be depressing. In fact, they had no use now apart to sit there and rot. By the look of things, he’d end up just like them: sitting and rotting. Truth be told, he had accepted it by now. With only one leg to stand on and one arm to fire a gun, he was no use to anyone, especially Big Boss. What he wasn’t expecting was a chance at forgiveness. 

* * *

 

A blurry face, a pair of gentle hands, a firm yet familiar voice— Big Boss

"What took you so long?"

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a gift for a friend, and since Kaz's death-date was February 25th, I thought why not honor him for being the sassy piece of shit that he is. 
> 
> May he rest in peace (pieces) 
> 
> Kazuhira Miller


End file.
